


Joe Gets Barbie

by cinder1013



Category: G. I. Joe (Cartoon)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinder1013/pseuds/cinder1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shipwreck takes his best friend on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joe Gets Barbie

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by "Ode to GI Joe" the short film. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYI3MPVYyco&feature=fvwrel

"Barbecue and I do this all the time."

"That explains a lot."

Shipwreck shot his friend a dirty look. "Come on. Cobra hasn't made a move in over a week. I'm bored out of my mind. We deserve a night out on the town."

"And that has to do with painting my nails, why?" However, he obediently held out his hand for more cherry red paint.

"Because you always fall for it." He smiled at Beach Head, even batting his eyelashes. "As soon as these dry we'd better get you a shower."

"Shower?"

"You know, body odor, Beach Head, goes hand in hand?"

"I resent that."

"I heard about the night in the coffin." He grinned, tipping his hat back so he could inspect his work. "Perfect, if I do say myself. Shower next, and a shave." He reached for Beach Head's hood, but his hand was batted away.

"I don't think so!"

"C'mon, I'm your best friend!"

"Friend?"

"Who else?" He winked. "Nobody loves you like I do."

Very slowly, Beach Head pulled his hood off, revealing creamy, white skin, thin coral lips, a cute pug nose, deep emerald eyes that no longer faded into the background, and thick, curly caramel hair. "Well? Are you just gonna sit there and stare? Did I grow an extra nose, or what?"

"Uh, no, it's definitely not that." He grinned. "I guess I was expecting two noses...or something." Beach Head growled back, but said nothing. "Okay then, think of this like an undercover mission. Tonight's date, er outing is volunteer training. Just no report."

Beach Head raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Shipwreck - "

"Come on! After you get your shower I'll do your hair."

"Hair?"

Shipwreck threw him a towel. Standing back, he crossed his arms. "Well, get a move on. We don't have all night."

Beach Head sighed and headed for the shower, shedding his uniform along the way, further revealing brawny shoulders, well defined abs and long, muscular legs. He turned to shut the door, but Shipwreck stopped him. "Can't a guy get a little privacy around here?"

"And miss this? Come on, all of it. I want to make sure there's no deformities I don't know about."

"Whatever." Finally, a beautifully tight ass and half-erect cock. Shipwreck's jaw dropped. "What? Did I grow two cocks now?"

"Oh, yeah."

Beach Head looked down, looked back up, looked down again before meeting Shipwreck's eyes for a final time. "You're starting to worry me."

"Uh, shower. I'm gonna...you know, go get dressed."

"You do that." The water started. "And find me something to wear. I don't have anything."

Shipwreck grinned on his way out the door. He wandered the long, grey hallway of the Joe barracks aimlessly, looking for whatever personel of the female persuasion he could find. Finally, he ran into Lady Jaye at the end of the hall. "Hey, Jaye, got a minute?"

"What do you want?"

"You got anything strapless?" She shot him her death glare. "What about that pink taffeta number? Why that look? What did I do?"

"I am not going out with you, Shipwreck."

"Oh, not for you. It's for Beach Head." He laughed and she stared back at him blankly.

Scarlet approached from behind them. "It's real, Jaye. He and Barbcque do this all the time. I've got a little black dress you two could use."

"That'd be great. I can't wait to see him in it." He followed her into her room.

"You think he's really going to go for this?"

"Of course. He's got such a gorgeous little Barbie waiting to pop out. Want pictures?"

"Of course, don't I always?" She handed over a spaghetti strap gown, clinging tight in silk. "He doesn't have two noses, does he?"

"No, but if I have my way he'll have two backs."

"Get me a picture of that!"

With a grin, he rushed back to the room. Beach Head was still in the shower. Leather pants and a tight black t-shirt slipped on in no time at all. Behind him he heard a gasp. Beach Head was standing in the doorway, dripping, a towel wrapped around his waist. Shipwreck did a slow twirl. "You like?"

"It's very...different. I don't suppose you have an outfit like that for me?"

His friend laughed. "Even better." He held up the little, black dress.

"Not on your life!"

"You say that, but I don't think you mean it."

"I mean it," Beach Head growled.

"Uh-huh. So, you're afraid of it."

"I am not afraid."

"Of course you're not."

"Absolutely not."

"So, you'll wear it?"

Beach Head's gaze seethed, his jaw flopping with each evaluated and dismissed answer. "How do you do that?" he finally asked.

"It's you, buddy. It's all you. This is fun. Barbecue and I do this all the time."

"I notice that you're not the one in the dress."

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" He grinned. "Come on, put it on and then I'll do your hair. Curl it, do you think?"

"I don't think," he snarled back, but Shipwreck already had him half-way into the dress.

"Barbecue has a pair of shoes we can borrow. They're heels. You do heels, right? If we have to ever go undercover against Cobra, you can do heels, right? Because you never know when you might be asked to run in four inch fuck-me pumps and fire an AK-47 at the same time. This is good practice." He whistled, pulling a brush through the naturally curly hair. "You use VO5 on this? It's wonderful."

"Paul Mitchell. It's the only thing that prevents split ends under that hood."

"Well blimey, you'd think I'd recognize a super-conditioner when I saw it." He whistled some more. "Mind if I use hair spray?"

"Yes, I do."

"It's some natural stuff, not tested on animals."

"Well, I suppose that's okay then." He frowned. "How are you getting me to do this?"

"I always talk you into these things. That's why you love me. This one is just a little wilder than most." He plopped down, facing his recalcitrant friend. "Red lipstick tonight, I think. Maybe some silver glitter? We're going undercover after all." He grinned impudently.

"I'd feel a lot more undercover with a shawl."

"This is the spring look. Now, purse your lips. That's right. You are going to be so fabulous."

"I could do without the commentary."

"You don't believe me? You wound me." Shipwreck grinned anyway. A little blush, some glitter eye shadow, and he was ready to go. "Earrings? I've got some nice diamonds."

"I wear green well."

"Faux-emeralds." He held up two atrocious, dangling things resembling two spiders on their backs.

"How about something else?"

Shipwreck pulled out two diamonds dangling on short, gold chains. "These do? I can put them on clips."

"My ears are pierced."

He leaned in close and whistled. "Wow. Where'd you get all those?" He traced the perforated shell of an ear with one finger.

"Troubled youth."

"Sounds like a story behind that."

"You'll have to get me drunk first."

"I'll take that as a challenge." Beach Head groaned, but Shipwreck ignored him. "There. You look gorgeous. Ready to go out?"

"Remind me why we're doing this?"

"Because it's fun. Because we're bored. Because you need to expand your horizons." He dragged his friend out the door behind him. "Remember your voice training. We're going to a club where this is cool, but we don't need people looking at you funny on the way there. This'll be a new experience for you." Beach Head let that one pass with only a small growl. "It is a new experience, right?"

"That's gonna cost you a tumbler of the best scotch in the place."

"All to a good cause." Shipwreck whistled all the way to the club. Beach Head kept on trying to remind himself why he was doing this. Then Shipwreck would get ahead of him in those leather pants for a few steps and he would remember.

Outside the club was pulsing with energy, thrumming with the steady dance beat of Technotronic and gin. Shipwreck dragged Beach Head up to the door where he seemed to know the bouncer. They were waved in with a long, slow whistle.

"Guess he likes the legs. Barbecue always wears long dresses."

"Really? How fascinating. Scotch?"

"Uh, yeah. How do you take it?"

"Neat."

"You would." He caught a passing waitress, obviously another man in drag. "A tumbler of your best scotch, neat and a One Eyed Parrot."

"You would drink a foo-foo drink."

Shipwreck ran a hand up Beach Head's thigh. "I'll foo-foo you."

"Please tell me you have better lines than that."

"Fine, be that way." He sat back sullenly. Beach Head glared at him. One thing about that man, boy could he glare. "I guess...well, I'll go find out what's holding up our drinks." The bar was throbbing with people. By the time he got back to his table his drinks were there, but Beach Head wasn't. His friend wasn't hard to find. He was cutting a thick swath through the dance floor with a tall, blonde Don Johnson look alike. "I already hate him," Shipwreck muttered. Grabbing the scotch, he braved the floor, spinning from person to person until he reached Beach Head. "Your scotch!"

He got a giggle back, "thank you, sir." Beach Head downed it in one gulp and then wrapped his arms around Mr. Don Johnson wanna-be. "Wanna buy me another?"

"Wanna go upstairs?"

"No." He pulled away and wrapped his arms around Shipwreck. "Buy me another, sailor?"

"Oh, so now I'm good enough." Beach Head started to pull away, but Shipwreck dragged him back, swaying slowly to the music. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

"You always were a push-over."

They swayed for a long time, slowly, to some cheesy Whitney Houston. Nobody played Tony Bennett anymore. Ahh, the shame of it. Finally another fast song started and Shipwreck dragged his date off the dance floor before he could seduce all the men with those pretty hips and muscular ass. "Another scotch?"

"Yeah." They returned to their table to find Shipwreck's drink slowly melting all over it. "Yuck." Beach Head glanced around, evaluating. "Come on." And he dragged Shipwreck to the bar. "You should drink whiskey like a man anyway."

"I'm a pirate. Pirates drink rum."

Beach Head raised one delicate eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead he turned to the bartender. "Scotch, neat and a double shot of wild turkey."

"Wild turkey?"

"That's a man's drink."

"Sounds foo-foo."

"It'll knock you on your ass." They knocked them back and Shipwreck coughed. "Told you."

"Order us another round and then we'll go back to crawling all over one another on the dance floor."

Beach Head nodded and did as he was told. They went back to the dance floor. Shipwreck found himself being spun in slow, sultry circle to some Sheryl Crow. Where did they get this music, he wondered, and how soon could they send it back? But Beach Head felt like heaven in his arms, the full body armor hiding some of the most beautiful curves and muscle this sailor had ever seen.

"Crawl into a bed with me?" he finally whispered into that pierced ear an hour or so later.

"Much better," Beach Head whispered back, and dragged him out of the club.

Outside, they paused for effect. Chaos reigned. Cobra was obviously trying to steel the money from the Federal Reserve, which just happened to be down the street from the club they were at, and the battle had spilled out into the streets. There were Joes and Cobras everywhere. Fires raged. Tanks flattened nearby cars.

"Come on!" Beach Head shouted, grabbing two AK-47s from some fallen guys in blue, who were not dead, just unconscious. They took off down an alley, firing behind them, trying to keep Cobra off their backs.

"This way," Shipwreck shouted, "I just saw Lady Jaye!"

Behind him, Beach Head turned his ankle on the heal and went down hard. "Shipwreck!"

"Man, how bad is it?"

He tried to stand, but fell down again. "I can't put weight on it."

"Back against the wall. The others will find us."

Suddenly, an ominous shadow fell across the mouth of the alley. "But not before I do," an evil cackle announced. They both looked up to see Zartan with the rest of the Dreadnoks closing in on them.

"I'm holding you personally responsible for this, Shipwreck." Beach Head muttered under his breath.

"I told you you would have to learn to run in heals. Didn't you have that on your Joe entrance exam?"

"This is all very charming, gentlemen, but time is not in your favor at the moment. Grab them. Cobra Commander will want to see them."

"Death first!" Shipwreck screamed, jumping up and spraying gunfire over their heads. His barrel jammed, so he backed up to stand over Beach Head, weapon raised by the muzzle like a modern day Davy Crocket. The Dreadnoks only laughed and closed in tighter.

Suddenly, from behind, a gush of flames streamed out over their heads. With a few cries and a lot of cursing, the Dreadnoks scrambled away into the night.

"Barbecue!" Beach Head shouted.

Barbecue looked the prettily dressed Joe up and down. "Don't quit your day job, kid." Then, he was gone.

Shipwreck helped Beach Head up, supporting him on the walk back to the barracks. The fight was mostly over, only a few fires and prisoners were testament to the horrible threat the world had so recently faced. "He didn't mean it," he whispered in his companion's ear. "You look wonderful."

"But I can't run in heels. I bet Barbecue can."

"Yeah, so? You'll learn." He brushed a kiss over the young man's jaw. "He's certainly never as pretty as you look tonight."

"Thanks." Beach Head stopped him, right there in the middle of the street, in the dying firelight, and kissed his sailor passionately, one leg wrapped partially around his lover for balance. Behind them the slow rumble and creak of a tank pulled their attention away from one another and up to the man and his dog on top.

"Hey, Shipwreck, can I give you and your date a ride home?" Mutt asked.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. H-She hurt her ankle. Can you give us a hand up?"

"Ma'am," Mutt greeted him, settling him on top next to the gunnery. "You look real purty tonight." Junkyard agreed with a small whimper. Shipwreck hopped up next to him and pulled his friend close. It had been quite a night.

"I think you owe me a very big bottle Glen Fidich," he whispered.

"It hasn't been that bad, has it?" A long wet kiss was his only answer. "I hope there's more where that came from." His hand crept slowly down the back of Beach Head's dress.

"Watch it, sailor," he threatened between clenched teeth.

"Two bottles of scotch."

"You can't bribe me," he hissed.

"Can't blame a sailor for tryin'. You're only the prettiest lady I've ever seen," he leaned in close, "and I have an absolute fetish for being fucked by pretty ladies."

"Do you?"

"What?" Another long kiss. "You thought I was going to top you?"

"That kinda felt like where this was going."

"Are you kidding, baby? I'm a consummate bottom. Please say you'll fuck me. Please." One more kiss.

"Well, when you put it that way-" he dragged Shipwreck in for one more breathless kiss.

"Ain't that sweet," Mutt murmured behind them. "Looks like true love for the sailor tonight. Always nice to see a pretty lady, even if she is with Shipwreck." Junkyard agreed with another whimper, one that Beach Head echoed in the back of his throat, unable to separate himself from his man.


End file.
